


a collection of witcher fics

by spookynat



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Each chapter is its own story, M/M, like i love yennefer so she'll probably make an appearance, sorry for the discrepancy in style - i'm garbage, there'll be more characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:21:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24353533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookynat/pseuds/spookynat
Summary: each chapter is a new fic. i'd like to say i hate myself for writing these, because i TOLD myself i wasn't going to get a new hyperfixation, but here we are lads! i'm obsessed!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. hanahaki

And he realises that these flowers, beautiful in their entirety and toxic in their creation, the ones he's been gazing at on the sides of the path for the past two weeks, are the reason why he fees so terrible. The tightness in is chest is not imaginary, the blooms by his lips in the early mornings not made up.

And he comes to the terrible realisation of why they are afflicting him. Because his lovely bard enters the room, and he immediately feels that inevitable tightness.

"Ah," he says, desperately in love. A new bloom is already scratching its way up his throat. It won't be long now. "Fuck."


	2. the first time jaskier sees geralt (aka god bless leather pants)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> me: i don’t have time to hyper fixate on another show  
> me: sees geralt of rivia in that butcher of blaviken scene  
> me: oh no  
> seriously gays, i changed my lockscreen to art of them. i hate myself a little

the moment he laid eyes on the witcher geralt of rivia, jaskier could feel himself fall a little bit in love.

"I love the way you just sit in the corner and… brood," he says to the man in the darkened corner.

"I'm here to drink alone," the man replies. his eyes are aimed at the window. fuck, jaskier could stare at that profile for _hours_ , but it's rude. probably.

"good, yeah, good," jaskier replies, leaning against a support beam. "no one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except… for you." the man finally looks at him. jaskier is momentarily taken aback by his jaw and how perfect it is, but he doesn't let that stop him. "come on! you don't want to keep a man with… bread… in his pants waiting." he's gonna have to work on that line a little. "you must have some review for me, c'mon! three words or less."

the man - no, _witcher_ , jaskier can see his eyes perfectly now - stares directly at him, silent. jaskier _definitely_ recognises that specific shade of yellow. so… disarming.

is it hot in this backwater tavern?

"they don't exist," the witcher says. jaskier is still working on identifying the man past his profession. his name starts with a g, he knows it. then the words register.

"uh… what don't exist?" jaskier asks. greg? gerod? something with an r sound in the middle. he notices the swords behind the witcher, admires them for a brief moment.

"the creatures in your song," the witcher drawls, seeming a little annoyed now.

so, naturally, jaskier, as the human embodiment of chaos, replies, "and how would you know?" please, sir, get angrier, i bet you look _lovely_ when you do.

the witcher does not answer, but instead glares at jaskier. that magnificently beautiful jaw clenches. his drink is empty. jaskier almost wants to get the man a new one so he'll stay, so he can look at that perfect face for as long as the arbitrary social convention ties him to drink and conversation.

"oh, fun," jaskier fills the silence and decides to give up the ignorant charade. he slides into the seat opposite the witcher, still grasping his stolen ale, and the witcher bristles. jaskier wants to run his hands over his hair, over his shoulders, whatever it will take to soothe this man into a conversation with him. "white hair… big ol' longer… two very… _very_ scary looking swords." the witcher moves suddenly, only to dump out his coin purse. one copper falls to the table. it's enough. his name suddenly comes to jaskier, who says, "i know who you are."

the witcher stands, begins to leave. jaskier follows.

"you're the witcher geralt of rivia." he spins around a support beam of the tavern, drink still in hand. the witcher says nothing, continues out the door.

"called it!" he shouts after geralt.

then, jaskier watches as geralt is engaged by a patron of this posada tavern. the wticher tries to turn his back to jaskier but can't, so jaskier hears something about a devil and dol blatanna and decides to tag along, because it sounds like a great story if nothing else. geralt glares, tells him to full off, but jaskier is nothing if not persistent in the eyes of love and a new muse (not that he'll tell geralt that).

geralt tries to leave him behind. jaskier pretends not to notice, if only so he can stare at geralt's _lovely_ ass for a little longer.

who needs all that ass anyway? not that he's complaining. who knows, maybe he'll compose a ballad.

or ten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one day i WILL write that ballad about geralt's ass


	3. Jaskier Appreciates Geralt's Ass Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hhhhhng my man's ass really out here lookin like a fat PEACH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i love henry cavill's ass and thank GOD he said he's flattered by something like that

It's late, they're on a hunt, and Jaskier is _definitely_ in some sort of mortal danger, but all he could focus on right now is the absolute _peach_ that is Geralt of Rivia's ass.

God, what does a straight man need with all that ass? Jaskier is a little mad, but mostly appreciative (and a little horny). Of all the people to have an ass like that, it _had_ to be one of the only men who wouldn't truly appreciate it.

Well, at least Jaskier gets to bask in its glory. He has to be crafty about it, sure, but there's no way a Witcher's senses extended to objectifying gazes on their assess. Right?

Right?

"Jaskier!" Geralt calls from the swamp. Jaskier is loitering by the trees, firmly staying out of his way. The kikimora Geralt is hunting keeps turning to Jaskier, trying to go after the bard, but the Witcher is… at least mostly successful in pulling its attention away.

If only Jaskier can pull _his_ attention away from Geralt's extremely thick ass.

Fuck, he could compose a balled about that ass. He'd call it something like "His Sweet Peach". Maybe.

"Jaskier!" Geralt calls again. His voice is gruff with anger, thicker and darker in tone than last time. Jaskier gives himself a quick shake, starts to pay attention. Geralt is wrestling with the kikimora, wrapping those thick, _thick_ arms around one of its legs while shoving a hand into his neck.

Well, what passes for a neck, anyway.

Geralt's silver sword is lying on the ground, just out of reach.

"Coming!" Jaskier replies.

"No, you fool!" Geralt shouts. Jaskier freezes. "Run! Get the fuck out of here!"

Jaskier scoffs. "Yeah, that's going to happen." He continues toward Geralt, who is scratching at the floor, inching his way toward his sword.

Jaskier quickly realises that the sooner he gets Geralt out of that fucking swamp, the sooner he can be rubbing chamomile oil onto that lovely bottom.

Bottom… _ass_ is a better word for it.

Jaskier slides as close as he dares to the kikimora, edging closer and closer to Geralt's dropped sword. The mud was sticking to his pants _so_ easily and the bog smelt of death, but Geralt needed that sword.

Jaskier's hand brushes the blade. He blindly feels his way down the sword to the hilt, wrapping his fingers around the slightly worn grip.

"Geralt!" He calls, alerting both monster and monster hunter to his presence. The kikimora snarls and lunges for the bard, only to be stopped by the grip the Witcher holds around its back leg. Jaskier picks up the sword (mother of _fuck_ is it heavy) and tosses it to Geralt, who catches it in a perfect grip. Of course he does.

"Now get out of here!" Geralt shouts at him again, rolling out from under the kikimora and climbing to his feet. His ass is facing Jaskier.

_Perfect_.

"Yeah, okay, Geralt!" Jaskier replies, backing up with one eye on the kikimora and the other on Geralt's ass. He is totally watching to make sure Geralt is okay.

Totally. That's what it is.

Finally, as Jaskier reaches the treeline, Geralt spears his blade up through the skill of the kikimora, waiting until it stills and then yanking it out. He stands still for a moment, then spins and storms toward Jaskier.

"What the fuck was that?" He demands. As he draws close, Jaskier can see the pale, translucent quality of his skin and the back pools of his eyes.

Jaskier could spend all day staring at Geralt when he was on one of his Witcher potions.

"That was me _saving_ you," Jaskier replies, shoving his hands on his hips. "And I'm still waiting on a thank you."

Geralt grunts softly, still probably angry at Jaskier, but that's fine. Jaskier could live with that. However, if Geralt was dead… that's something Jaskier _couldn't_ live with.

"Well," Jaskier says brightly, watching Geralt slice off the kikimora's head for the alderman. "That was certainly eventful."

Geralt grunts again. Alright, clearly not up for conversation. That's fine, Jaskier can work with that.

"Back to the village then?" Jaskier asks, already nearing Roach, who is standing next to his things. Geralt gives him the kind of warning look one might give to a cat who sits a little too close to a glass of water on the edge of a table. Jaskier silently backs away from the horse with his hands raised in a placating position.

Anyway, what was he thinking about? Geralt leans over to do… something, and Jaskier is swiftly reminded.

Oh. Right. That.

Then Geralt stands up again and his ass _still_ looks good. It has to be those fucking pants. Jaskier can't tear his eyes away, watching Geralt as he moves around the clearing.

"Jaskier," Geralt prompts. It feels like no time has passed, but Jaskier pulls his eyes up to meet Geralt's. His eyebrows are raised.

"Yes, dear wolf?" If it was possible, Geralt's eyebrows would've raised higher, but he didn't say anything about that.

"Are we going, or are you just going to stare at my ass all day?" Geralt heaves himself up onto Roach's back while Jaskier sputters. He squeezes Roach into gear with - oh god, with those powerful, _thick_ thighs. Jaskier chokes a little.

"I wasn't -!" Jaskier tries to deny, but to no avail. Geralt sends him a knowing look, and Jaskier shuts his mouth.

Then, he realises something, and perks up.

"But you aren't… offended by it? _Opposed_ to it?" He asks Geralt, feeling a little bit like a puppy following its master around.

"Didn't say I wasn't," Jaskier is downtrodden for a moment by this response, then Geralt turns and gives Jaskier an almost… _heated_ look. "Didn't say I was."

Jaskier huffs at the cryptic answer. "Well, that's no answer at all!"

"Oh, it is," Geralt replies, turning to face forward. Jaskier hadn't noticed when they had started walking back. "You just have to really think about it."

Jaskier huffs again. "See if I ever stare at your ass again."

"Oh, you will," Geralt replies. "I know you Jaskier. You'll be back to staring at my ass tonight when I undress for a bath."

Jaskier is pouting. When did he start pouting? "Well, not my fault that the gods gave you all that ass when you are the _least_ likely to appreciate it." He follows this with, " _Someone_ may as well enjoy it," muttered under his breath.

"And as much as I appreciate the concern," Geralt says, looking at the village lanterns in the distance, "You're entirely wrong."

"Wrong about what?" Jaskier antagonises. "The fact that someone should enjoy it? Or the fact that that someone _isn't_ you?"

"Both," Geralt replies. He twists in the saddle, gives Jaskier a critical look. "I know what my best… _physical_ assets are. And I definitely know that they are appreciated by others." He pauses. "You most of all."

Jaskier pauses. Stops walking. Geralt hears the lull in his footsteps and glances over his shoulder at Jaskier.

"Well then," he says.

Geralt grunts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one day i'll write that sonnet/ballad/poem/SOMETHING about geralt's ass


	4. fuck the mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> but, y'know, don't literally fuck the mountain (jaskier)

You know, not many people would follow their best friend of twenty-something odd years up a mountain on the possibility of death by the hands of a creature which doesn't exist for nothing.

Okay, well, not for _nothing_ , because Jaskier expected to get some _great_ stories out of it, but still.

Yet,Jaskier decided to follow Geralt up that cursed mountain anyway, and for what? So he could be yelled at, blamed for things that he had nothing to do with causing and be sent away like a petulant child to their room with no supper? No, he didn't deserve that.

It's when Jaskier is back at the bottom of the mountain that he realises this. _Yeah, he didn't fucking deserve that._ But he's not going to go back up that mountain and give that pissed-off witcher a piece of his mind, so instead, he'll sit down on this nice-looking log and stew for a few hours until Geralt passes to collect Roach. In the meantime, he can think of all the things he wants to say to the asshole.

_I didn't cause any of it,_ he starts. _None of it was my fault. I was the victim in those cases and it was_ you _, Geralt, who shoveled your own shit and made your own mess._ You _wanted to find a genie instead of a good fuck and nearly caused_ me _to die,_ you _decided that tying Yennefer's life to yours, however spontaneous a decision, was a good idea, and_ you _decided to invoke the Law of Surprise even though you_ knew _what might happen._ I _just wanted to be a good friend and help with the djinn_ , I _wanted to_ leave _when the house was collapsing around Yennefer, and_ I _just wanted to invite you to a_ good fucking party _._

Yeah, none of that was eloquent. He had to think of something else, especially now that he had gotten all of his thoughts out there.

And yet, when Geralt walked past, nose in the air and pointedly _not_ looking at the bard sitting on the log, Jaskier had come up with nothing. Nada. His brain was empty.

"You!" He jumps up anyway, yells after Geralt, who is still ignoring him and decidedly making Jaskier feel like a scorned mistress. " _You!_ " He calls again. Geralt is still ignoring him.

"Geralt, I'm fucking _speaking to you_!" The witcher turns around. Jaskier doesn't much like the look on his face.

"What do you want, Jaskier?" Geralt bellows at him. He takes a few steps toward Jaskier, who is starting to feel a little threatened. He's never seen genuine anger on Geralt's face. Annoyance, maybe, and irritation, perhaps, but never _rage_. "What could you _possibly want_ that I haven't _already given to you_?"

Jaskier, stunned by the statement, answers with the first thing that comes to mind. "What _you've_ given to _me_? What about what I've given to you! My youth, my talent, my goddamn _music_ have all been _wasted_ on you!" He quiets for a second, and Geralt opens his mouth, but then Jaskier says, in a very soft voice, "I'm starting to see why you're so quiet all the time."

Geralt sighs, sags. Jaskier can see the stress radiating from the man, like he had just lost everything. And maybe he had. "It's not that I'm trying to be quiet all the time," he says. Jaskier is surprised that he's even saying this. "It's that it hurts to speak."

Jaskier bites back the instinctual _Oh, so we're sharing our feelings now? After twenty years?_ and sighs. "Hurts to speak? Why?"

Geralt sends him a glare. Jaskier says nothing, then realises the answer. "Ah," he says. "The Trials."

Geralt nods and turns around. His shoulders are hiked up around his ears and Jaskier can practically _feel_ the tension.

"Well," Jaskier says. He isn't sure what to say, which is something that hasn't happened in a _while_ , but he opens his mouth anyway. What can he say? When there's no chaos happening, he will create some. "We've both sacrificed to stay together. It's been twenty years, and Geralt, I know you know how long that is in a human lifespan."

Geralt says nothing.

"I just want you to know, even if you still don't want me to stay with you anymore…" Jaskier pauses, thinks about what he's going to say, then says it anyway, "It meant the world to me."

Geralt still says nothing. He whistles for Roach, who appears from the trees. Without saying anything to Jaskier, Geralt reaches out for Roach's nose and then strokes his hand down her neck.

It feels like a dismissal to Jaskier.

Heart thoroughly broken, Jaskier turns and sighs harshly. He's trying to ignore the tears stinging in his eyes and blurrying his vision. He has no idea where to go now.

"Well?" He hears from the witcher behind him. "Are you coming?" Jaskier turns and sees Geralt standing next to Roach, holding her reigns and watching Jaskier closely.

Jaskier sniffs dramatically, keeps ignoring the tears still in his eyes. He knows Geralt can see them, smell them, from where he is, but it's a matter of pride. "We're not done talking about this."

"Hm."

"We _will_ be talking about this later," Jaskier insists, striding toward Geralt. "This is _not_ a conversation to _leave_ on this _goddamn mountain_."

"Hm."

"Geralt." Jaskier's voice was sharp, biting. Geralt gazes at him evenly, for once still walking beside him rather than getting on Roach. "You cannot just _hm_ your way through this conversation."

"We'll talk about this later," Geralt agrees. "But first, we need to get off of this damn mountain."


	5. jaskier unintentionally seduces half of his class on the first day of oxenfurt and if that's not on brand i don't know what is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> basically i'm trying out this new idea and i don't know yet if it's a vibe so uh
> 
> yes/no is it a vibe? if it's a vibe then i'm gonna put it in its own story file

Jaskier's eyes were always just on the too-bright side of blue.

When he was a child, still going by the name Julian Alfred Pankratz, future Viscount de Lettenhove, his father's visitors would always comment on it. "He's got such blue eyes!" They would say. "He's going to be so handsome when he matures." Jaskier didn't like their comments much then, didn't like them much now. They make him feel weird, like an outcast. An _other_.

And don't get him wrong, there's nothing wrong with being different. There is _absolutely nothing wrong_ with being just a little bit too weird for most people. It meant they mostly left you alone, unless you were the one to seek them out. Then people _loved_ the weirdness, felt like it made them just a little bit more normal. But when it's something people take a glance at and _immediately_ decide there's something wrong, something off, well. The treatment wasn't always fantastic.

And maybe that's why Jaskier had always been a little bit obsessed with two things: music and witchers. The music was for other people, to endear him to strangers, to give him something to do with his hands and take his mind off of the comments. The weird, too-blue eyes drew them in, but the music is what kept them around. People _loved_ his music and he was glad he could make something worthwhile out of his hobby.

But the witchers? That was solely for him. He adored the idea of men made to be something stronger, to be made to be protectors. He loved the idea of men with golden cat eyes, carrying huge swords with more weapons on their person than they could possibly count. And the idea that these men were raised to be protectors with no one to protect _them_?

Well, Jaskier and his too-blue eyes were more than happy to embrace them and give them the love they needed.

His parents had hated his obsessions. They hated that he was so obsessed with music, that he was so obsessed with strange men he had to gleam stories about (and he definitely hadn't snuck into the local tavern at the tender age of twelve to see what the local blacksmith had said was a real, true-to-life witcher, but was actually just a tall, old man with dull grey eyes and one single wooden sword with a leather and steel pommel - to scare away bandits, he claimed) that Jaskier was willing to throw away his entire inheritance just to leave home at the age of fifteen to attend Oxenfurt Academy to study the seven liberal arts.

Which leads him here. His first day. Approximately one hour after the start of his third lecture and two minutes after he accidentally bewitched half of his classmates by singing the first lines of his new title "The Fishmonger's Daughter".

"Mr Pankratz!" His professor booms from the back of the room. He winces, clasps his lute a bit tighter with his shoulders hunched. "What the absolute _fuck_ have you done to my class?"

"I'm so sorry, sir, I don't know!" It's been months since he's felt as small as he does right now. "I really, honestly don't know what's happening."

The professor lets out a long-suffering sigh, like he can foresee that Jaskier is going to be a 'problem student'. "Come with me, Mr Pankratz. And all of your…" he takes a moment to try to find the right word, then settles on, "fans."

Jaskier nods hurriedly, looks at the students surrounding the small dias at the front of the theatre. The small crowd consists mostly of women, but there are some men sprinkled in there as well. All of them young and impressionable. Jaskier wants to kick himself. "Let's go on, then," he says to the crowd. Entranced, the crowd turns around and follows the professor out of the room, leaving Jaskier clutching his cheap lute at the front of the hall in front of the rest of his class, most of whom seemed to be half in love with him already.

"I'm so sorry," he says, then rushes out of the room after his professor. He can hear sighs behind him.

This is going to be a long four years.

Which, really, leads him to now. Here. Standing in front of a man with hooded white hair and golden cat-like eyes.

"I'm here to drink alone," the man drawls, staring out the window. Beside him are two huge swords but Jaskier is more focused on his jawline.

Well, his mother _did_ always say that it was easy for him to fall in love with people. Just not easy for them to fall in love with _him_.

"Good, yeah, good," Jaskier replies, cradling his ale. The man has one on the table - it's mostly empty. He wonders if he can buy the other man another ale, convince him to stay a little while longer. Maybe he'll even _really_ sing for the man.

Yes, his jawline is _that good_.

"You know," Jaskier continues, already knowing this man is probably going to kick his ass later for being too annoying. Hell, the man hasn't even _looked_ at him and Jaskier can practically _feel_ the anger vibrating off of him. "No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance. Well, except… for you." The man finally, _finally_ , turns to look at him, golden cat eyes blinking. This man has a quite kind of rage, Jaskier can tell. Quiet kind of _emotions_. "You must have some review for me, come on! Three words or less."

The man is quiet for a moment (but when isn't he?) and glares at his stein. Jaskier slides into the seat opposite the man. There's something about him that Jaskier cannot quite place -

Wait. His childhood obsession. This is a witcher, here, in the flesh, and Jaskier is _speaking to him_. He can feel himself begin to vibrate. Going by the glare he receives, so can the man across the table.

"They don't exist," the man eventually says, not necessarily meaning to be quiet but certainly at a low volume. Like he doesn't want people to overhear him, give them any reason to pay attention to him. Jaskier fixes those too-bright blue eyes on the witcher's face, tries to find a name in his maze of memories.

"Wha-at don't exist?" He asks, when the sentence finally hits him. The man glares up at him, then turns and pulls out a coin pouch. Jaskier gets excited, thinks the man might give him some coin, but he only tips the pouch over and lets a single crown fall out of the pouch and onto the table. To pay for his ale, Jaskier surmises.

"The creatures in your song," the man replies, putting his pouch away. He takes another swig of ale. Jaskier is _definitely_ halfway in love. Just think of all the stories this man can tell! He feels himself begin to vibrate harder, tries to contain it. Can't.

Jaskier takes a look at the man again, the way he's sitting, and decides to mess around, to try and remember his name. Once, he had a journal filled with the names of all the known witchers. He used to draw pictures of what he thought they looked like, of the monsters they hunted. He can figure out this witcher's name, easy.

"Oh fun," he says, taking in the details of the man. The witcher bristles at the study, but Jaskier ignores it, keeps going. "White hair… big ol' loner… two very, _very_ scary looking swords…" He puts a hand to his chin, tries to remember the name. The witcher grabs said swords and stands up. "I know who you are!"

The witcher freezes, glances down at him, glares, then walks away from the table with his meager belongings. His back is firmly to Jaskier, who calls, "You're the Witcher! Geralt of Rivia!" Immediately, he can feel the whole tavern come to a halt, looking at the pair. The bard, clutching a cheap lute with bread stuffed down his pants, and the witcher, carrying two _huge_ swords with leather covering him neck to toe. Then they all turn back to their own conversations. Jaskier realises that perhaps he _wanted_ that to happen. After all, he could bewitch people with the smallest intention and a single strum of his cheap, shitty lute.

"Called it!" Jaskier calls after Geralt, who is accosted by a random man at the door. Jaskier overhears the mention of a devil and immediately decides that he needs to be with the witcher.

He follows Geralt out of the tavern and onto the dirt path in front of the tavern. "You are _not_ coming with me," Geralt growls, taking a few steps toward a beautiful brown mare and rubbing at her nose and forehead.

"Oh yes I am," Jaskier replies, ducking back into the tavern and returning within three seconds with a lute case and his bag. He puts the lute inside of the case and hikes it all onto his back, grinning at Geralt who, in the same amount of time, has saddled his horse and mounted. "You cannot have all of these adventures and _not_ expect someone to want to join you!"

"Yes I can," Geralt replies, voice low and angry. "I've been doing it for years now."

"And how many years would you say that's been?" Jaskier asks, already trying to work it into a new composition.

Geralt sneers at Jaskier and turns his horse onto the path leading out to Dol Blathanna. However, he doesn't immediately take off at a gallop, doesn't even increase his horse's pace past walking. Jaskier notices and smiles to himself.

Interesting.


End file.
